Parisian Poets
by LiteratureLove
Summary: Reneesme Cullen has embarked on a journey to find her relavence in the world. What happens when she arrives at the City of Lights? Reneesmexoc


**Hello all, just a little note to welcome you to my first fanfic and humbly ask for critique.**

**Also: Stephanie Meyer owns!**

_16 October 2024_

The pitter patter of raindrops against the window pane and the rumble of train on track filled my compartment. There was no other noise and all I could think was _I guess it rains here too. _The rain was so thick that the passing countryside seemed little more than a grey blur, a grey blur that reminded me of home.

The memory that always came to surface during these times of reminiscence was the most painful, because I knew how much it had hurt _him._ The brown eyes that I had known my entire life emanated pain and confusion. I did not want to force my way of thinking on him, I needed him to understand by himself why I needed to go.

'Why?' that one word meant so many questions. Are we not good enough? Am I not good enough? Do you hate me?

'Everyone has a choice, this is mine.' My reply was solemn and I was determined to keep my face straight. I knew this cut had to be as clean as it had been with my family. Mom had been the only one to cry, Dad held her and looked at me with the kind of knowing he has always had. The family all knew of this wanderlust, to be alone with the world in order to discover what we truly are in relation. They had all done it and they knew of the necessity and they knew that I had all the time in the world to come home. But him... he was the only one I knew I was leaving _alone._

'So you chose to break my heart?' I could see the short fuse of his temper was lit, he was never usually this volatile with me but then again our conversations had never really taken this kind of turn before.

'I never asked for it, you just dropped it on my lap when I was a baby.'

'But you're special, you mean so much to me.'

'I don't want to be special, I just need to be normal. Just for a little while' I reached up to lay a hand on his shoulder and relished in the rare feeling of soft and warm flesh for just a second. I tried to end it all on a light note 'Just try not to kill my Dad while I'm gone' but his face still remained glum and I knew this was my moment, the last time I would see them.

So there I was, six months and several countries later, on a train to Paris. Perhaps the city of lights would give me what all the previous locations hadn't. So far my little soul search had come up empty and I was halfway through my planned tour of Europe, that is if nothing should come up here. Dark outlines of buildings began to emerge from the mist created by the rain as we passed through the suburbs leading to the city. I closed my eyes and let the clanking of the wheels and the engine become a comfort, something to focus on and make the memories fade.

The next thing I knew there was a sudden jerk and my eyes were wide open, it had stopped raining. I must have fallen asleep because the train had stopped. I was grateful that I was holding my backpack on my knees, or I'm sure it would have been stolen. I stepped onto the platform of Gare Saint Lazare and paused, another new start and another new opportunity. I took a moment to brace myself before walking forward.

I had a little map printout, internet cafes were a saviour, showing me to the hotel. Unfortunately it did not make navigating the narrow and numerous streets any easier and constantly found myself using the river as a landmark. I could have asked for directions but decided to take the more masculine approach and enjoy the scenery. The buildings were tall and made of patches of granite grey and pristine white, the road and alleyways were often so narrow that one could shake hands across them. People, bicycles and mopeds were all strolling and bouncing over the cobblestones, never once bumping into each other as if it were all a well known dance that anyone could participate in when they turned onto a boulevard.

The river presented a contrasting amount of open space, tourboats skimming over the surface of the water and small boats bobbing gently over by the riverbank. I paused on a bridge to lean on the railing and take in the view. Paris seemed so peaceful; the elegant Parisian women with Dior hanging from their shoulders blended in with the tourists whose only adornments were Kodak cameras and practical shoes. I never really have been a coffee lover, the smell never held the same temptation for me as it has others, but I thought one thing you really should do whilst in this city is have a coffee on the Seine.

I settled on a bench with a cappuccino in a cardboard cup bought from a nearby street vendor and contented myself with watching a clown entertain passing children about twenty feet away. Minutes followed and were carried away by carefree laughter at slapstick antics and the next thing I knew the sky had changed to a threatening shade of navy blue.

I rose from my seat regretfully as the clown packed up his bag of props and headed home, to a family or a lonely sofa I didn't know. But my priority really should be the hotel, or more specifically where it was. I took the folded map from my pocket and attempted to find my bearings by the river but none of the 'rue's and boulevards that I saw matched those on my map. I figured that as long as I followed the river I would end up somewhere that corresponded with the map. But half an hour of walking passed and weariness had begun to set in. I knew that there were still too many potential witnesses if I properly lost my temper.

So I adopted my 'screw it' attitude.

With the crumpled map disposed of in a litter bin I abruptly turned left. This was due to something Mom said to me when I was younger; 'Whenever you get lost in a maze, always turn left.' Though I knew my mother existed carrying odd logic with her, the narrow streets really did feel like a labyrinth and it felt like she was guiding me so I went with it, focusing on one thing at a time.

The next thing that became apparent to me was hunger. It's always best to curb hunger when it first hits I find, really to prevent it becoming a different kind of hunger. So I followed my keen nose to the source of potential food, something sweet and warm. I turned onto another narrow street, but this one seemed less threatening as it fended off the night with lights hanging on strings between the buildings with a thin crowd milling around and a few benches leaning back against the walls.

I found the source of the sweet smell was a Creperie which consisted of a kiosk opening onto the street and the sounds of batter hitting a hotplate and the clinking of bowls and cutlery spilling outside. As I approached the stand I noticed that most of the people around were facing the other end on the street and when I stood on tip toes I saw a gentleman on a keyboard playing classical melodies. He didn't have a hat or basket at his feet so I presumed this was a paid act rather than a busker. But my attention was temporarily diverted by the hollowness of my stomach, which was only amplified by a chocolaty aroma hitting my nostrils. I tried out my accent on the textbook phrase of ordering a Nutella crepe and no comment was made by the vendor. But he must have been used to tourists and would probably tell me my French was excellent no matter my skill level.

The warm chocolate was heaven on my tongue and I turned back to the musician whilst I tried to get a seat closer to him. I found an unoccupied seat on a bench with a clear view and hungrily munched on my sweet treat as I sat down. I watched the pianist and saw he had a good degree of skill and the soft music felt familiar to me, he was obviously lost in his own music by the way his head swayed and his fair shoulder length hair swayed.

I had finished my crepe and was licking my fingers whilst still eyeing the pianist when I felt a tap on my shoulder. When I turned around my vision was invaded by a napkin being thrust in my face as a deep voice said in clear French, 'There's some on your shirt.' On a reflex I looked down and saw a blob of chocolate on my white button up shirt.

I grabbed the napkin and said a rushed 'Merci.' As I tried to save myself a good scrub by removing the chocolate, but the damage was done as I gave up with an exasperated sigh.

There was a small chuckle at my expense coming from the direction of the napkin dispenser on my bench and I looked up to see a brown haired man with the shadow of an early beard across his face. He thrust a hand at me and said with a genial smile, 'Luc.'

I gave him an analysing look before reengaging in my 'screw it' attitude and shook his hand answering 'Reneesme.'

**Yeah, bet you saw that coming. **

**R and R and Love!**


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